


Cupcakes.

by Riddle_Clifford



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Little Mix (Band), My Chemical Romance, One Direction (Band), The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Multi, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 16:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6384082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riddle_Clifford/pseuds/Riddle_Clifford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry didn't know where his life was going, but he enjoyed it, the simple life at the bakery.<br/>And everything was entirely normal, until someone started ordering 42 cupcakes on a weekly basis and he was the one sent to deliver them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cupcakes.

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Cupcakes
> 
> Author: Riddle_Clifford 
> 
> Words: 4,851 (So close to 5k wtaf)
> 
> A/N: So I wrote this in under a week, but because of family problems and nocturnal habits, I've only been writing at night and it took longer. It would've been longer, but I'm thinking of adding a few more parts, because there's these two pairings I want to add, as well as Harry's own love interest.

Harry knelt down and sifted through the pile of aprons until he found his own. He made quick work of untangling the ties messed up with his. It was usually Perrie's fault, she was always having to head home and make sure her flatmate hadn't killed himself yet. Last time he'd put his hand on the fry pan, trying to get a burnt pancake out. He'd ended up in hospital with second degree burns on his hand and wrist and Perrie was off work for three days.

Harry tied his apron around his waist, the pink cursive reading 'Harry'. He thought it was the best thing in the world, having his own personal apron, to be recognised as someone who works at a bakery, someone who loves his job enough to graduate to his own apron after a year.

He loved his job, baking cakes and cookies, scones and biscuits, making his grandmother's recipe for whipped cream, and seeing people enjoying his creations, things he made with his bare hands. How they would compliment the perfect carrot cakes and marvel at the weirdly amazing chilli and chocolate biscuits.

He did a quick check along the bench, making sure there was everything he needed, and quickly started on another batch of zucchini muffins. They were a favourite of many kids, who seemed to like them even for their high zucchini content. All of their parents are usually extremely surprised when their zucchini hating child chooses that of all the high selection of food. Harry always feels proud of himself when the parents tell him how good he is at adding healthy things to food not usually classed as such.

After the muffins were put in the oven, he began making the adult favourite, rum and raisin biscuits. Most of the adults loved them and Harry felt the need to always make enough for three baking trays, because he hates when they run out by midday, some days even sooner.

Eventually he was done, and after waiting half an hour for the last of the food to cool, just playing games on his phone, he put everything in the correct slots. After he was done, a feeling of satisfaction filled him, gazing upon the full counters, rows upon rows of food made by only himself in the last few hours.

He tidied up the kitchen benches, removing all the mixing bowls and utensils he used, glad he had his earphones, as cleaning up his mess could sometimes take longer than he'd expect, depending on the amount of food he'd made.

He put on some music and by the end of the playlist, he had washed and dried all the dishes, and was in the process of putting back his apron. He folded it neatly and placed it on the top of the pile, tucking in any ties that could possibly trip someone up.

After taking all the chairs off the tops of the tables, he locked up again and walked home.

He pulled his jacket tighter across his front, trying to prevent the cool morning chill from reaching his skin, but goosebumps rose on his arms and legs all the same.

\---

The heating still wasn't fixed. Harry flicked the switch and kicked in the one place that started it, and a loud hum filled the room.

He removed his boots and socks, throwing the latter in a direction that was vaguely the kitchen and left his boots by the heater to warm a bit before he had to go out again.

The sofa bed in the middle of the room had a cat curled up on it. He'd gotten Molly from a drug dealer back when he was a teenager. Honestly, she was on of his best investments, unlike the near constant weed supply he'd gotten from the sane person as Molly. He used to try to be edgy but everyone just thought he was cute. It didn't work the best.

He carefully slid under his blankets, trying not to disturb Molly, and snuggled as far down as he could, willing his body to become a furnace or something.

He pulled his phone out of his jean pocket and watched YouTube videos until his eyelids began getting too heavy and he fell asleep, his phone falling out of his hand onto the floor.

\---

Harry's alarm blared in his ear, making him jump violently and knock Molly off his bed. He swiped across the screen and turned it off, before his head landed back on his pillow. He practised the breathing exercises his old music teacher had taught him to help with his asthma, while Molly busied herself with loudly crunching her biscuits in the kitchen.

He let out a loud sigh, swinging his legs out from under the covers. Luckily the heater hadn't stopped working while he was asleep and his breath no longer fogged the air.

He grabbed a small olive and garlic salad out of the fridge and put it in the bottom of his daytime satchel, as well as his wallet and the keys which had fallen from his pocket while he slept.

An extra hoodie lay on the end of the bed, and he stuffed it in on top of his food, hoping this time Eleanor from the deli had secured it better than last time. It leaked throughout his bag and it now has a brownish stain on the bottom.

Tucking his phone into his back pocket, Harry put the bag down by the door and grabbed a pair of socks from the floor. He hoped they were clean enough.

After slipping on his socks, he put his boots on, grabbed his satchel and swung the strap over his head. Just before he opened the door though, his eyes quickly skimmed the apartment, making sure Molly wasn't going to get out again.

She seemed to still be in the kitchen, so he opened the door as fast as he could, and shut it behind him just as quickly.

\---

Before he knew it, he was standing outside the bakery, ready for his morning job as the cashier, with Perrie working as the barista.

They got along fine, except for Perrie's constant rush when it came to her accident prone flat mate.

They had ten minutes until they opened, which was plenty of time for Harry to put his bag in the back room and splash his face with cold water.

He was just tying his apron when Perrie rushed in, her long ponytail whacking Harry in the shoulder as she dashed into the back room. There was a thud of a bag and then she was out again, pulling her apron from the pile.

"Hey," Harry said, not in the least bit worried about her running around. It was a regular occurrence, usually meaning her flat mate had nearly died again.

"Hey, Harry," Perrie replied, getting the coffee set up. "Here." She slid a hot chocolate across the counter top.

He raised the cup to his lips, allowing the scorching hot liquid into his mouth. It burnt his tongue, but after years of overheated food, it didn't bother him.

Harry smoothed down the front of his apron and sighed, walking to the door. He flipped the sign from closed to open, just as the phone began to ring. He turned, but Perrie had already answered.

"Hello, Perrie from Marge's Bakery. Speaking?"

"Yes, of course. Harry can make them straight away."

"Thank you for ordering. Bye." She put the phone down again and Harry walked over. "Call Frankie. She's not going to be happy, but we've got a delivery."

\---

Frankie wasn't happy. Understandably. She took the afternoon shifts to recover from her band's gigs at the pub down the road. So when Harry called her, he got yelled at for three minutes as she got dressed and did her hair and makeup.

She couldn't yell while driving however, as driving and calling someone is literally illegal, so Harry's ears got a short seven minutes of recovery before she arrived and slapped him.

Which was exactly what she did. And then proceeded to demand Harry delivers the cupcakes and then take her afternoon shift so she could get sleep before her next gig.

Harry gave her a stick of gum to keep her quiet and headed off into the kitchen, ears ringing.

\---

Harry stood in the kitchen, leaning against the bench and wiping his face with floury hands. His arms ached from vigorous mixing and his hair was beginning to stick to his face from sweat.

42 cupcakes. This random guy named Pete had ordered 42 red velvet cupcakes and honestly, Harry was surprised he'd had all the ingredients for them.

He ran his hands through his hair, combing out any sweat formed knots and pushed it off his face. He was actually relieved to be done.

He sat them in a couple of delivery boxes, 21 in each, and now he was just waiting for them to cool down so he could pack them up.

\---

30 minutes later, Harry sat in the driver's seat of Perrie's old bluebird outside the block of apartments a couple of streets over from the bakery. He would've walked, but it was just too cold.

He read over the scrap of paper Perrie had scribbled an address and he was pretty sure he was on the right street, but for some reason he was scared it wasn't where he's supposed to be.

Harry unclipped his seatbelt and picked up the two boxes of cupcakes, putting them on his lap. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, opening the door.

It wasn't the wrong place. Harry was good at reading instructions, but last minute anxieties always got to him.

With the comforting weight of the cupcakes in his arms, he set off to Apartment 79.

It was on the second floor. Apparently there were 45 apartments on each floor and five extra rooms for bathrooms and such. Although, the receptionist should probably know the building, so he really shouldn't have worried as he found 79 with ease.

He knocked on the door and waited, legs feeling slightly jelly-like.

A woman answered. She had a pretty necklace that drew Harry's attention almost immediately.

"Pete, delivery!" And the voice was too masculine to belong to a woman. Harry's eyes quickly ran down the person's body, and he blushed slightly at the flat chest. "So, like, wanna tell me your name?"

Harry's eyes remained firmly on the boxes in his arms. "Um, Harry."

A man came up behind the person and wrapped his arms around their waist. "Mornin' Mikes." Then he proceeded to kiss their neck right in front of Harry.

It was too sweet, like he'd eaten shop bought cookies for breakfast. It wasn't a nice feeling.

"Pete, company," The person said, trying to push Pete's hand out from under their top.

Harry was very interested in a slightly bent corner of the top box.

And then his actual saviour came in the form of a short, chubby man wearing a hat.

"Pete Wentz." He said. It sounded completely normal to Harry's ears, but to Pete's it apparently didn't, because he was suddenly stood as straight as a ruler and his hands weren't anywhere near the person.

And just because, Harry watched them through the curly hair that had fallen in his face. His arms were getting sore again, this time from holding the boxes, but that didn't stop him from watching the scene in front of him.

"L-like Mikey said, we h-have company." The short guy continued, "Go get c-cleaned up. You have pink paint in your hair." Harry's eyes moved from the short guy to Pete's hair, and he actually did have pink paint in his hair. "Mikey, see our g-guest in."

And with that, the short guy stepped over to Mikey, who had his eyes tilted down, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. He pulled away quickly and brushed past the three in the doorway. Pete followed behind him like a loyal dog and now it was just Mikey and Harry, who was even more nervous than before.

"Sorry, it's Pete's fault. They wanted to try Dom/sub dynamics," Mikey said, "Come in."

Harry's eyes darted from either side from under his hair, but no one had come outside. Maybe this was normal behaviour for them, Harry didn't know, but no one else seemed too concerned.

He followed Mikey inside.

"You can sit at the dining table. Would you like a drink?" Mikey went into the kitchen, voice fading a little as he walked behind the wall.

Harry wouldn't mind a glass of water, and he told Mikey as he put the cupcakes on the table.

He looked around the room from his seat, and the first thing that caught his eye was the painting of Mikey, who was laying on a bed with a black bedspread, surrounded by cupcakes covered in bright red icing. There was another one next to it of the short guy, who had a hand out of view and flushed cheeks.

And that corner on the top box, that was definitely the most interesting thing in the room.

Mikey came back, a glass of water in his hand for Harry. After placing it on the table, he wiped his hands off on the front of the simple blue blouse he was wearing, a few darker blue spots sinking into his shirt.

Harry had a sip to remove the dusty feeling from his dry throat and decided he would be able to speak without a voice crack, "Here's 42 red velvet cupcakes," He spoke, pushing the boxes over toward Mikey. Mikey opened the top box and took one out. He sniffed it, before taking a decent sized bite.

After he finished his mouthful, he said, "Pete won't mind," And Harry really hoped Pete didn't mind, but from what he'd seen earlier, he didn't expect much worrying at all. Pete seemed like a pretty laid back person.

"So, um, I have to go soon, before Perrie slaps me as hard as Frankie did."

Mikey nodded, but seemed entirely unconcerned. "I can tell her you were with me. She's used to me telling her lame excuses anyway. Like when I burnt my hand trying to flip a pancake." Mikey showed Harry his left palm, the skin was uneven and the lines on his palms were twisted almost beyond recognition. "Barely has any feeling anymore."

Oh. Mikey must be the clumsy flat mate.

Pete interrupted what Harry was going to say next, as they walked flat footed into the room and flopped on the ground next to Mikey's feet. Mikey's damaged hand moved into the decently long strands of Pete's hair, tangling them around his fingers. Pete sat up straighter, pushing into the affectionate touch, eyes closed.

Harry was feeling a bit awkward, seeing the trust they had between them, a connection, per se, and Harry wished for something like that. That connection they had.

\---

Harry ended up sitting in their dining room for much longer than he thought he would've.

He got invited to come again and he was just about to leave when the short guy, who he'd found out was named Patrick, came out of the back room. He was carrying a pile of books, some with broken covers, and some almost brand new.

"M-Mikey, got those books," He said, perfectly and precisely, and how he managed to grasp the attention of every single person in the room, including Harry himself, was a total mystery. He had an attention demanding voice.

And then he looked at the way Harry was still sitting at the same place at the table, with Pete leaning on his leg and Mikey perched on the edge of the table, legs paused mid-swing.

Harry was the first one to move. "Uh, so, I'm going to go. See you guys later." He stood up, and Pete shifted over so Harry could get out. Mikey, no longer having something to interest him, sat up straight from where he'd been leaning forward, entirely captivated by Harry's stories of when he started at the bakery.

Harry took one last glance at the people in the room, Mikey smoothing his skirt, Pete kneeling with their head ducked and Patrick standing over them both, and Harry opened the door.

He left without another glance, wrapping his arms around himself as a shield against the cold.

\---

As soon as Harry got back, both Perrie and Frankie literally slapped him, and his cheeks turned a painfully bright red almost instantly. He retreated to the kitchen as fast as he could to escape the girls until his swapped shift at midday.

The girls laughed when they took one look at how well they did when Frankie and Perrie were packing up. And if Harry had thought it couldn't have been worse, the situation almost became worse immediately after that thought, because Gabe, the afternoon barista, entered, the bell on the door jangling.

He laughed loudest of them all, the sound echoing around Harry's head. "You girls did good." His face was stretched into a ridiculous smile, and Harry mentally prepared himself for the inevitable slap on the butt just seconds before the incident happened, glad he'd had to take over from Frankie before and had to put up with Gabe. Where Gabe was concerned, no one was safe from the flood of innuendo and extremely obvious ass slaps which rang out into the shop. Usually everyone just laughed at the victim.

Mrs. Greene, who was drinking her tea at the back of the shop snickered into her hand, even though Harry knew she was trying to pass it off as a cough. He went redder than he already was, and everyone continued laughing at him. At least he knew they were joking around like usual.

\---

According to Gabe, there was a cute afternoon usual, who Gabe had nicknamed Bilvy within a quarter of an hour of knowing him and asked him out with a casual ass slap for good measure. And for some reason he said yes. Harry was unsure on how the hell Gabe managed it, but he somehow had gotten a boyfriend during a week of knowing the guy.

Apparently he liked how blunt Gabe was about everything. Harry could almost imagine Gabe's father saying something stupid like, "Our Gabey, always a catch, eh," With a wink, because he was too much like Gabe. Harry was pretty sure their kind of weirdness ran in the family.

'Cute afternoon guy' came in at the end of the lunchtime rush, hair tied back with a scarf he 'borrowed from a friend', and two circus tickets. In that moment, Harry knew they were made for each other, with Gabe's love for weird things and this guy seemed to like the circus.

He left half an hour later with a takeaway paper cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate coffee cake which Perrie always went home with if there was any left. After talking to Pete and Mikey for a few hours, he found out it's for Mikey. Perrie doesn't even like coffee, but Mikey seemed to have a slight addiction.

If slight meant at least two litres a day of coffee. In his defence, he wasn't as bad as his brother, who Pete had confirmed was never seen without a nearly full mug in hand.

When Harry looked across at Gabe, he was shocked to find him not making any dodgy comments to customers, but instead staring at the door between coffee's.

Harry was starting to question why everyone around him had collectively decided to get into relationships.

\---

A week later, Harry was beginning to wonder if he should just swap his and Frankie's Monday shifts around, because he couldn't just keep waking her at unreasonable times to tell her the same person named Pete had ordered again and she had to come in and work.

She had yelled at him and slapped him again, because this was already unreasonable and it was only the second time, but she agreed it was best to swap their shifts until Pete stopped ordering their red velvet cupcakes.

And he found himself in the kitchen again, trying to make them as quickly and accurately as possible.

\---

The apartment looked exactly the same as last time, except there was another picture hanging on the wall above the dining room table. It was a full body of Mikey, his pleated dress skirt pulled up and one of Harry's red velvet cupcakes used as a gag. He blushed almost instantly. He'd only met Mikey twice, and he really hadn't wanted to know what his dick looked like.

"Pete decided to put the cupcakes to good use," He said, clutching the two boxes to his chest nervously. He didn't know why he was so nervous around them, but he thought it might have something to do with Patrick's presence. He hadn't talked to him properly, so he didn't know much about him as a person. He'd prefer to go off his own idea's of Patrick, rather than what Pete and Mikey had told him.

He did seem pretty nice though, and took great care of both Mikey and Pete, which must've been hard, with the way Pete could go from jumping on the tables and climbing everyone like they are trees to leaning against someone's leg in a quiet, thoughtful mood. Mikey however, was kind of different, as he seemed to hide his emotions well and probably vented horribly at least once a week. Perrie was sort of like that. They probably had lots of arguments, but managed to stay friends on the basis they liked each other enough to be comfortable around each other.

Harry was good at observing people and emotions, unless they were subtle and directed at him. Then he proceeded to remain oblivious.

"Y-yeah, they d-did." It was Patrick. He was sitting at the dining room table, eating what looked like one of the cupcakes from last Monday, and Pete was sitting on the floor again, head resting on Patrick's thigh, but they were looking up at Harry. They were beaming.

"Thanks," Pete said, still smiling. Patrick's hand which was playing with Pete's hair, moved to their mouth. Harry blinked and blushed as Patrick shoved two fingers in Pete's mouth.

"Q-Quiet." Patrick motioned for Mikey, who was standing behind Harry, having answered the door, to explain.

"Pete wanted us to stop them talking this week, just to see if they could last the week." With a pointed look at the person preoccupied on the floor, he continued, "We started this morning."

Harry mouthed an exaggerated 'Oh' and nodded. He held out the boxes of cupcakes, which Mikey took, and stood awkwardly, waiting for an invitation to sit or to leave. He wouldn't have minded either, but he was quite relieved when Patrick asked him to sit. He sat next to Patrick, in the same seat as last time, but when Mikey asked him if he wanted anything, as he'd had a coffee just before he'd left, he shook his head.

Pete shuffled over to Harry's leg and leant against it, Patrick's fingers still in their mouth. They pointed to their cheek and mimed wiping something off. Mikey explained for them.

"You have a smudge of flour."

Harry scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, giving himself a mild friction burn and a bright red cheek. It contrasted well with his reasonably pale skin, but no one said anything.

Mikey sat on the table again, smoothing out his blue skirt and asking how Harry's day had been so far.

\---

Harry's apartment got worse, he had payed the water bill, but no hot water was working and he could no longer take showers without the risk of getting sick, seeing as it was the middle of winter and he could literally get the flu at any moment. He didn't have enough money to get a new one, which was what he'd been planning for months.

He turned up at work that day with his scarf covering his mouth and his biggest, warmest coat on. And it just happened to be a Monday. He'd already been in and baked until he couldn't see straight and almost fell asleep on the counter, and now he was back, armed with a cough dangerous enough to kill anyone in a five kilometre radius, a stuffed nose and a sleeve full of tissues. He's always prepared for when things go to shit like this.

Sometimes Perrie would let him crash on her couch, but Frankie had recently been kicked for interrupting people's sleep (and yes, of course the person whose sleep she was disturbing was her old neighbour, Mr. Barker, who had just wanted her kicked from the start), so she was occupying Perrie's sofa while Harry was living in a terrible excuse of a house with Molly and an obvious lack of human food.

He left earlier that morning, to go to Pete and Patrick's, but at least he could turn up the heating in Perrie's car, because Harry was pretty sure she didn't want to come out after work and find a frozen corpse in her car.

He put the cupcakes in his lap, a shiver running up his spine from the warm of the boxes against his goosebumped legs. His black jeans soaked in the heat and he sighed with relief as the car heating kicked in properly. And then he arrived and his warmth was short lived, as per usual. He was tempted to stay in the car, but he had to get the cupcakes inside.

Harry pulled his scarf up over his nose and buttoned up his coat as much as he could, with the button restrictions and all. He got out, hugging the still warm cupcakes to his chest, and he hoped the three weren't doing any extracurricular activities, because he was cold and their comfort wasn't allowed to be put over his right now. He sniffled and basically marched inside.

He pooled on the floor metaphorically as a flood of warmth swept over him and he was no longer so eager to ruin the guys' lives. He walked up much more calmly, but the heat had made his nose start to run, so was still walking fast so he could hand the cupcakes to Mikey and remove the itch of a running nose from above his top lip.

If Mikey wasn't so efficient on a Monday, Harry would've dropped the cupcakes on the floor, regardless of the outcome. He practically threw the cupcakes at Mikey as soon as the door swung open and he then he was digging in his sleeve for a tissue.

After sorting out the issue, he smiled weakly and said a simple, "Sorry," with a shrug.

"You're sick." Harry was suddenly reminded Mikey was extremely good at pointing out the obvious.

"Yes."

Mikey led him inside, this time to the lounge, where he set the cupcakes on the coffee table and went into their room, where he must've grabbed a blanket and pillow. He set them on the couch and forced Harry to lie down, while he bustled around the room, asking Harry if he needs anything or if he's comfortable. Harry found it better to just lie there and try to go to sleep to the worried voice of Mikey Way.

\---

It had been a few months since he'd last slept on the couch at Patrick and Pete's house, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't have to again, as he'd found a great apartment with no complains of water not working and power being flickery and not working for hours on end. The reason was found as the money which was supposed to go to water and electricity had been tampered with for the entire building, which meant some people had none for ages. It had taken months for the situation to be rectified, and many people had moved away, mainly to friend's couches or their cars.

He was used to living alone again, but Molly had fallen in love with Mikey and refused to leave him, so she had stayed behind. Mikey had finally moved from Perrie's apartment, where Frankie now lived in Mikey's old room, and Mikey was living with Pete and Patrick, definitely permanently until they all moved or something.

Harry's new cat, Frankenstein, who'd been collectively named by Pete, Frankie and Mikey, didn't like moving from Harry's extremely comfortable bed, and was finding it easy to get fat with her lack of exercise.

Harry was still working at the same bakery, where he'd permanently swapped shifts with Frankie on a Monday, and was less likely to get sick without freezing in the shower. He enjoyed his life, and his friends, no matter how weird their company could get.

And Gabe still had a habit of slapping Harry's ass every chance he got, but that was unlikely to change any time soon. This is Gabe Saporta we're talking about.  

 


End file.
